No one raised a hand or said anything – just the way Mange liked it. He looked around and realized that only a handful of dwarves were near his brother’s gadget stand.
‘This is not good,’ he thought to himself. ‘None of this works if we do not have the proper gadgets!’ He began to breathe harder as the thought of failure began to play in his mind.
“Where are the gadget makers?” Mange called out.
Fogrolir, deep in a conversation with Vulred, turned to address Mange.
“They will be here shortly, we hope. Skalmaena has gone back to Hegh Thurim to send out the royal army to gather every trap maker available. She also sent out to Megh Borim to send us all of their iron workers.”
Fogrolir finished speaking and motioned for Mange to step off his pedestal and join him.
“Mange, I do hope that you know what you are doing. I am trusting you to not lead my elven army astray.” Vulred said as Mange joined he and Fogrolir.
“Everyone may think my brother and me to be crazy, Elven king, but I assure you we are great at what we do.”
“Yes, the entire city can vouch for that! They really know how to piss off everyone!” a dwarf nearby chimed in with a laugh.
Fogrolir’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he stared at the dwarf in question. Now was not the time for fun and games – particularly as it was hard enough trying to keep the Taberlim brothers’ in line. Mange ignored the quip and continued his chat with Vulred.
“Fogrolir, how good are these two at making devices of significant use for war?” Vulred asked.
Fogrolir stayed silent for a moment as they walked along. Finally, they stopped in front of the center square statue:
“Are you familiar with Lyconian’s, Vulred?” the Storm Rider asked.
“Yes, unfortunately. The creatures do not frequent Faswarian lands and have only been seen once or twice in Omabanise, but I know what they are. Why do you ask?”
“When I sought out the Taberlim brothers for their help, I fell and twisted my ankle along the way. I was stuck in the cold all night without anything to help me fend off an attack from those beasts. Through early morning fog and snow, I could barely see anything, but I could hear everything. A howl rang out, and I knew that a lycan was nearby. Before the lycan found me, Mange and Barth showed up to help. They said they had a new gadget that they call a pistol, and that it could kill a lycan in one shot.”
Vulred stopped walking – his eyes widened at such a ludicrous claim.
“A gadget that can kill a lycan with only one shot?” he repeated.
“Yes. Regardless, I thought Mange and Barth were out of their minds or just messing with me. However, when a lycan that stood well over eight-foot-tall came out of the woods and advanced upon our position – I found out firsthand that they were not joking at all. Mange fired his pistol and missed the beast, but Barth made solid contact with his weapon straight to the animal’s chest. The lycan took a few steps as though he were unfazed before he yelped and fell to the ground. He was dead, Vulred. Dead from one shot of whatever the hell that device is that they made.”
Vulred swung his gaze over to Mange only to find the dwarf all smiles as he listened to Fogrolir recount their encounter with the beast.
“Any questions, King Vulred?” Mange said with a sarcastic laugh and whimsical smile.
Vulred nodded and smiled, “Very well then,” he said, “I just hope whatever your plan is for these cyclops creatures is as effective as your device for lycan’s is.”
The three men kept walking at a brisk pace until they came upon Barth; he was in the middle of fastening some sort of cylinder piece of metal with a spring to a thick leather strap.
“What are you thinking, dear brother?”
Barth looked up and noticed the three men eyeing him intently as he worked.
“Remember the time we tried to make a cannon that could fire without the use of magic powder?”
“Yes, I remember. I also bear in mind that it was the one time in our illustrious lives that we failed to succeed.”
“Well, that was because we were trying to use springs to launch something that was heavier than the casing in which it sat. However, I do believe that this will work to our advantage in our current situation!” Attached to Barth’s head was a headband that held a pair of small binoculars that Barth made. He pulled the spectacles in front of his face and stared through them as his fidgeted with the small spring.
“How will this help us, Barth?” Marge asked.
“Well, we need a way to set the ground on fire and take out as many enemies as possible at the same time. So instead of flying over the cliffs and dousing the ground in oil and then setting it on fire, I think we should dip these metal arrows in the oil, load them into a casing, and fire them at the enemy. After they are fired, the dragons can light the arrows by doing what they do best – breathing!”
“Barth, you are a genius!” Mange laughed and clapped his hands together. “This ensures that things get set on fire, and even if an arrow goes through a body and exits, there is an excellent chance the body will still catch fire! I love it!”
Fogrolir stepped forward and held up both hands to calm the two brothers before they got too carried away –
“What about Megh Borim? We have to set the city ablaze to ensure the enemies cannot make it up the cliff side. We cannot fire arrows and hope they set everything on fire.”
“You are correct, Foggy boy! That is why we stick to the original plan and just douse Megh Borim in oil. We keep dragons whose specialties are water and ice at the ready to ensure that the fire does not leave the city. Our enemies, however, should be dealt with immediately so they cannot retreat and regroup to come back. If they have been here as long as you say they have, yet have not attacked, then they are waiting on one of two things. Either reinforcement from the ocean to show up in more boats – or an enemy that is already in our land that we do not yet suspect to be an enemy.”
With his last comment, he fixed his eyes upon King Vulred Helethorn. The king took notice of this but kept his mouth closed. He knew from speaking with Fogrolir that the two brothers were known for making outlandish accusations and thus, he let the comment slip by without a challenge.
Barth continued to try and fasten the spring-loaded cylinder to the patch of leather, but it refused to hold.
“Blasted thing! I ought to throw it in the fire and be done with it!” he was beginning to show his frustration, and it was not a beautiful sight.
“Barth,” his brother said as he took a step toward him, “why don’t you try that bubblegum we made. It was sticky and moldable. I think instead of bubblegum, we made glue!”
Barth’s eyes lit up with joy at the thought of finally having a use for the gooey substance he made days before the journey. For the next half hour, the brothers worked together to fasten the long strips of leather to the small cylinders. The sticky substance Barth made was perfect for holding it together. They applied the substance, added a bit of heat, and it held so tightly that none of the men could break the pieces apart from one another.
“OK Barth, we now have a bunch of leather straps with springs on them. What are we doing with these?”
“Vulred, would you mind grabbing one of the wooden cylinders I asked your elves to make – if they are finished carving it out, of course.”
Vulred nodded and off he went to get one of the wooden cylinders. He returned shortly with a piece of wood roughly three-foot-tall and just as deep in circumference. There were holes in the ends of the wood, and the way in which it was carved resembled the chamber of a human-made colt. On the lower end of the cylinder, there were small holes cut out every few inches. The holes, it appeared, lined up with the empty chamber holes bored out by the elves.
“Grab that leather strap with the spring on it!” Barth pointed at the belt and Fogrolir grabbed it for him.
Barth laid the cylinder on its side and held it so it would not roll over. He took the leather strap and laid i
t the length of the cylinder, with the spring fitting into the hole on the side of the barrel. He looked up and smiled:
“Perfecto! Once the dwarves from Gornfurum arrive, we will have them make duplicates of our air blasters, but much smaller. We fit the air blaster into this end here,” he pointed at the bottom of the cylinder, “and the spring is the release for it. When the spring is pressed down like so,” he pushed on the spring to show the men how the action would work, “it will pop off the tab of the compressed trap, sending it hurtling forward. That will launch all the arrows dipped in oil in whichever chamber the spring is affixed.”
Vulred clasped his hands together and smiled:
“I am actually amazed by this, Fogrolir. These two men, despite their disposition, are very resourceful.”
“Indeed, they are, Vulred. Indeed, they are!”
As the men spoke about various things, they continued to work on the gadgets. There was a lot of work to be done and only a short amount of time to accomplish it. Throughout the day, it was sunny, and no snow fell, though Mange continued to argue with the other men that he could smell rain headed their way.
“I am telling you all, I smell rain!”
“Yes – as in, we are going to rain down hell on our enemies!” Barth retorted with a laugh.
“No, you blubbering buffoon, I mean real rain! I can smell it!” Mange spat in his brother’s direction, and for a moment both Fogrolir and Vulred thought the two might begin a fistfight. They did not, however, though they continued to argue. Finally, after a long bout of name calling that only the two brothers could understand – Mange lifted his head from his work and looked at Fogrolir.
“Foggy boy, I have a question. The arrows are a great weapon, and they will play no small part in squashing this uprising. However, you said before that you want to trap the enemies on the shores and dispose of them all. To do so, we will need to drop significant amounts of oil on the shoreline just as we are going to do in Megh Borim. If we fly over and start dispersing oil, they will undoubtedly run to their ships and set out to sea where they are surrounded by water and can douse any fires unless they are rather large.”
Fogrolir listened intently. He knew Mange was correct – if the cyclopses, skinders, or dark elves saw their beasts dropping waves of oil, they would no doubt leave the island.
“What are you suggesting we do, Mange?”
“Well, believe it or not, I know that rain is headed our way. I suspect it is about three days out, but it will arrive nonetheless. If we can set the cliffs and the outermost town of Megh Borim afire, then we can bide time to wait for the rain. When the rain swoops in, we take flight with the dragons and drop the oil during the storms, so the falling rain covers the oil as it falls. They will have no idea that we are dispersing oil as we will fly high enough to ensure that we cannot be seen. When the rain stops, we circle back, launch the arrows, and set them afire. They will land on the ground and hit the oil mixed with the rain, and it will light up everything!”
Fogrolir, unable to find any fault in Mange’s line of thinking, was more than happy to oblige the request.
“Very well then, Mange. If, and, or when it begins to pour down from the heavens above, that is when we will act on the shoreline. However, we must still set Megh Borim ablaze before then to ensure our enemies are where we need them to be – at the future pit of their own hell on the shores of Megh Borim.”
18
‘Goddess, can you hear my prayer? Please give us a sign that you are well and can hear our prayer!’ The words pierced through her mind like shards of glass. She could hear the prayer coming from the mind of Metakon, and she knew that could mean only one thing: the skinder clan referred to as the Chaotic’ were somewhere in Umuosmar.
She continued her journey through the woods as she made sure to stay off the roads so she would not be seen. ‘I will respond to that annoying little brat soon enough, but first – I must find someone loyal to take over the newly vacated dwarven throne’ she thought to herself as she kicked up a bit of dirt and grass – her anger displaying outwardly for a moment.
“Master,” she said in an almost inaudible whisper.
“Master, if you are there – I need your help.” She said, this time a bit louder. No response. She stood in the thick of the forest, contemplating her next move. Her powers continued to return to her soul; she needed a place to test her body’s ability to withstand the brunt of the magic she wielded. She called out to her master a few more times to no avail as she walked deeper into the forest.
The forest was cold as the biting winds continued to funnel in from the oceans, though the Demoweir felt as if her skin was on fire. She trudged along, kicking up leaves and dirt along her way. She let her senses lead her pathway and soon found herself standing at the edge of a natural stream. She realized she knew where she was.
‘This is where it all began.’ She thought to herself as she smiled. This was the stream where she first came upon a young dwarf named Praghock Yulgrunli. She reminisced about their rendezvous, where she asked the young dwarf if he was an Ufdi.
‘An Ufdi!’ he had exclaimed. ‘Bah! Never! Do I look like a vain dwarf to you?’ She bit down on her finger playfully and smiled.
“Oh Praghock, you were an easy one to manipulate. If only you had followed orders. Instead, you decided to turn against me, and what did it get you? Death – you fool. It got you killed.” She spoke aloud though her words were only to herself.
The water flowed serenely around the rocks along the embankment; their surface smooth and mossy from all the years of the current slowly chipping away at the rough edges. She stepped up to the brink of the muddy embankment and removed her shoes and placed the tip of her foot into the stream. Even in the cold forest, the flowing liquid felt like a soothing hot spring. She waded into the creek and turned slowly in a circle as she continued to recall all the different people she had lured into these very waters, only to drown them as they smiled up at her like she was the embodiment of life itself.
‘Oh, those were the days!’ She thought to herself as she chuckled aloud. She remembered the day Praghock himself was almost victim to her cruel mind game. Praghock was special, though – he realized the trap and managed to break himself free from her grasp. He stood on the muddy bank that day and threatened to kill her until he came face to face with her serpent form. Then he, like those before him, cowered down in fear and showed reverent respect for her powers.
“This place will work wonderfully to test my abilities,” she said aloud. She waded into the middle of the stream and closed her eyes to focus. She began to use her magic to create an illusion – a flashback to the day when she turned into a serpent and confronted Praghock. The fantasy would become a reality as she stood in the stream, reliving the moment. She was just getting to the part of her dream where she changed into her serpent form when a voice spoke aloud:
“Falsum, de morte consumptis.” The voice spoke openly to her.
She gasped and lost control over her power for a moment, which caused her to inadvertently send a fireball careening into a giant tree. The force cut through the trunk and seared it – the tree rocked for a second and then came crashing downward in her direction. She dove out of the way as it smashed into the water, sending water flying in every direction.
“Who are you! What do you want with me!” she screamed into the darkness of the forest.
“Ego sum Dominus. Vocasti enim me.” The deep voice echoed through the forest – it seemed to embody the entire forest as if the trees, dirt, rocks and everything in sight were all speaking.
“You are not my master! You lie! I know my teacher’s voice!” she shot back in desperation. The resounding voice in the forest made her tremble in fear, and all she could manage to muster of her power was a few orbs of light to help her see her immediate surroundings.
“Non mentior. Ego sum non potest mentiri. Ego sum creator omnium. Dicitis malum domini 'nihil aliud quam fatuo confidenti sibi rebellare placuit mea. P
onis erga eum, sed sit mihi anima tua.”
The Demoweir was speechless – to hear the booming voice claim that it was her master, not the one that she always thought to be her master, was disheartening. To listen to the voice claim that it was he who created everything, but was turned on by rebellion, made her cringe. She refused to believe the voice, however, and concentrated all her efforts on getting rid of the sound in the forest.
“You are not my master. You can claim anything you like, but you do not rule me! I know my teacher’s voice, and my master will destroy you! You are a fool to come to me with your cheap intimidation tactics!” her heart beat faster as the fear coursed through her veins. She prayed to her master – she prayed for help. The unknown voice scared her and all the power she possessed suddenly felt inferior. She had not felt like this since she was a child.
She fell to her knees as memories flooded her mind. The voices that talked to her as a child had tricked her. They lured her to a ravine and drowned her. She remembered dying – she remembered waking up with power. The power felt good and using it felt even better. She dedicated her new life to this authority, and in doing so, she learned the voice of her master. To hear another voice now claim that it was the real power, terrified her.
“You just wait and see,” she stammered. “My master is going to make you pay for claiming to be stronger than he!”
“Placuit sors tua, dæmonium habentem.” The voice said. Seconds later, the forest was calm once more, and the Demoweir felt her body relax.
“I am not a demon!” she shouted. Only the trees and forest animals heard her cries.
She calmed herself and sat silently while trying to decide where she wanted to go. This kingdom would be hers, and she needed a plan to ensure her takeover.
‘My Goddess, do you hear me?’ The voice rang out in her mind. She opened her eyes and smiled.
“Yes, Metakon, I hear you. What is it that you need?” she spoke her words aloud, knowing he would hear them in his mind.
‘We are on an island that appears to be run by dwarves. We landed on a shoreline with a steep cliff. We are here to do your bidding. Right now, our men are destroying two of our four ships to build ladders to ascend the cliffs. The dwarves have dragons on their side, but we bring our cyclopses and dark elves. You are our leader, my goddess. You tell us what to do, and it shall be done!’
Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2) Page 14